Family Page 18

  But…

  Christie could see that the driveway would take the car close to a bunch of Can Heads clustered to the side.

  Who had taken notice of the car.

  And now with the Can Heads closer, she could see that many of them had rocks in their hands.

  The car—which had just created this great opening in the circle, with everyone’s eyes both on the attacking Can Heads and the fleeing car—swerved close to that group.

  And the Can Heads jumped in the car’s path.

  Then, the sound of breaking glass as the moving car became covered with Can Heads, like ants all over a piece of sticky food dropped at a picnic.

  So fast.

  And while it was too dark to really see, Christie watched the car jerk left and right as if whoever was steering it no longer was.

  And then it flipped over, stopped.

  She heard—even over the sound of the guns firing—screams.

  She turned to Simon, who had been watching as well.

  “Simon. Out there! Look out there. Keep shooting!”

  She looked at her son in the dark.

  He wasn’t crying.

  But even with the gun braced on the hood of the car, she saw him shaking.

  And she had only one thought then: We can’t have come this far, to have it all end like this.

  We.

  Can’t.

  CHAPTER 39

  Family

  And then Kate, hands locked on the wheel, feeling so strong and good about what happened, could look ahead and see the mayhem.

  The flashes of gunfire like fireflies in the summer night.

  The gun sounds—some loud, others more like balloon popping—all blending together.

  She had just said to the kids in her car, those kids who had been through so much, that they’d be safe.

  And now she knew…

  That wasn’t true.

  Then—thinking beyond those kids rattling around in the back as she hit the gas, picking up speed—Kate thought of her mom. Her brother.

  So much had fallen on her shoulders lately, Kate knew.

  Now this.

  The scene before her eyes… terrible.

  She kept the accelerator floored as she raced to the circle with its rings of exploding gunfire lights in the night.

  And closer to what surrounded that circle.

  *

  Christie dug into a pocket and pulled out her last shells.

  Six of them, quickly sliding them into the gun.

  There were so many targets, that even taking her time, even with so many shots, with the Can Heads dropping yards away from her, there was no way she could “slow down.”

  No way she could conserve bullets.

  Simon had done well, and he had more shells, more ammo.

  But he also had to be only minutes away from being out as well.

  If only the others would get back.

  More guns.

  They could turn the tide.

  Then, without really a look, out of the corner of her eye she saw headlights in the distance.

  She took a breath.

  They’d be here soon.

  But then she heard—amid what was definitely a lessening of gunfire—more screams, the yells.

  No need to look.

  She knew what that meant.

  Then, as if signaling what would happen next, the old woman, mere feet away, said, “I’m out. Last shot. Nothing else, I’m afraid.”

  And Christie pulled the trigger, shooting with her gun barrel against the head of a Can Head woman—a tattered dress, blood spattered as if crazy makeup—the Can Head collapsed from the blast.

  Right at her feet.

  Christie said, still targeting the horde, with five… then four… shells left, “The others… they’re coming back. They’ll be here soon. Just hang on.”

  Then, crawling over the body of the Can Head that Christie just shot—three, four of them.

  Crawling over that body.

  Making idle snatches at that Can Head body, stuffing chunks into their mouths as they scrambled toward the car.

  There was nothing else to do now.

  Even with a few more shots left.

  “Simon, start to back away. Get to the house.”

  He didn’t move. So resolute in his job of aiming and slowly pulling the trigger on what was now his overwhelmed handgun.

  She yelled, “Simon!”

  And then the boy backed up, his eyes locked on the Can Heads reaching the car, suddenly moving even faster with their prey nearby, leaping onto the hood, the roof of the car.

  Anna had turned to run as well.

  And even as Christie took Simon’s hand, she saw Anna take a step away and then get yanked back, like a puppet.

  Yanked back. Then disappearing into the sea of Can Heads.

  She started, as best she could, to run—the act so painful.

  Tugging Simon, who kept looking over his shoulder.

  He can run faster than me, Christie knew.

  He could get to the house.

  But not if he stays with me.

  First, she let go of his hand.

  Then, over the screams that surrounded them, “Go Simon. Fast as you can. Run.”

  But he didn’t move from her side as she hobbled at what was her top speed.

  Then, born of terrible fear, horror, she did something she never had done before.

  She slapped her son.

  “Run!”

  And then, with only the slightest hesitation, his eyes watering now.

  Crying now.

  He did as he was told.

  He started turning.

  Which is when Christie felt the first hand grab her.

  *

  Kate saw an opening in the circle. She plowed the car right into it, sending the bodies of Can Heads flying left and right.

  The circle had meant to protect them.

  But now there were Can Heads all around it. On the cars, inside the circle itself, people running from them.

  In the rearview mirror, she saw the rest of the cars finally getting here.

  The people who had attacked the farm, returning to this.

  Kate drove wildly through the mass of figures in the circle.

  Taking care not to hit any fleeing people, and then nudging the car left and right whenever she could take out a Can Head.

  The kids in the car screamed constantly now.

  But Kate blocked that out. Had to.

  She then drove headlong toward the house, nearly right into it as she hit the brake and turned the steering wheel.

  She felt the car rock to the right.

  The left wheels leaving the ground for a moment before the car was stopped, in a cloud of smoky dry dirt.

  She got out, racing as fast as she could. Opening the car doors on the right side.

  “Come on. Everyone into the house. Hurry!”

  The screaming, crying kids didn’t move.

  Then, because she felt they would know what she was about to say… that she would understand it, “If you want to live, get out of the car.”

  The older girl sitting in the back finally added her voice to Kate’s, with urges of “Come on” and “Hurry.”

  And not even waiting for the car to empty, for the kids to file into the house, Kate ran in the other direction.

  Out to the circle. Where there was still gunfire.

  Still people struggling to get back.

  Where still—Kate was sure—she’d find her mother, her brother.

  *

  The hand, feeling like a claw, yanked Christie back.

  The pull so strong it forced air out of her lungs.

  Then worse, another hand on her.

  But, despite being stopped herself, with her eyes looking ahead, she saw Simon.

  And despite how fast he ran, a Can Head had grabbed him too, stopped him. She could see the shadowy shape of Simon flailing with his gun, trying to beat the thing away.

  B
ut it had to be near twice his height.

  And Christie—though held—could still raise her gun.

  Not to shoot at the two things that held her, struggling to throw her to the ground—but at the one holding Simon.

  Her rifle wobbly with all her flailing.

  She forced herself not to cry.

  Because however could she see? How could she aim if her eyes became teary?

  She fired once.

  Nothing.

  One bullet left.

  The gun held at a ridiculous angle, and she was guessing at its aim.

  Pulled the trigger.

  And then the Can Head staggered back.

  Simon was free.

  And as if that mission—saving her son—had sapped her of the superhuman strength she had somehow summoned to stay standing, to protect her son… she was quickly thrown to the ground hard.

  Slammed into the ground.

  Then, she was covered.

  They were all over her.

  *

  Kate raced, her gun out front.

  She only fired if a charging Can Head threatened her mad rush past the humans fighting in small groups, still in the circle.

  Soon the others would swarm in, the people who had been away with her. Sam, Ben… all the others.

  Soon.

  Just have to hang on, she thought.

  Then she saw Simon.

  A quick hand to his face.

  “Okay?”

  Fast. Just the one word.

  A nod.

  Then he said, pointing, “Mom!”

  “Go,” Kate said, not even waiting to see if Simon obeyed.

  She began running in the direction of where Simon pointed.

  *

  Kate could see what was happening here, in the dark—morning light still hours away.

  Some people lay on the ground, with other shapes—Can Heads—on top of them, pulling, yanking…

  Absorbed.

  Others who had come back with her were trying to get those still alive to hurry to the house, while all around clusters of firefights broke out.

  The confusion: near total.

  She ran full out to where Simon had pointed.

  And she saw her mother.

  Two of them had her tight and were dragging her to the ground.

  Kate ran up and placed her gun against the head of one and pulled the trigger, not caring how it exploded, how the blood flew everywhere.

  But then quickly… moving to the other, and doing the same thing.

  Then Kate herself felt a yank, dragged quickly backward, the gun nearly flying from her hands as she was thrown to the ground.

  And now she shot again, and again, not able to really aim, other than awkwardly, up at the things on her.

  Until she heard a man’s voice.

  Then felt something lifted from her.

  A blast.

  Then Kate was able to roll free.

  And with a bunch of blasts accompanying her moves, with her muttering the word…

  “Mom.”

  She scrambled to stand up.

  The gun blasts suddenly stopping. Because it was over.

  And standing up, everything so dark, the people shouting, the moans of other people on the ground.

  She looked ahead.

  Steps away.

  Her mother on the ground.

  Eyes open.

  Alive.

  Kate raced to her, falling to her knees.

  She saw Sam—who had just saved her—come beside her, yelling at people.

  Because…

  Kate could look down and she saw—in her mother’s midsection—this great hole.

  One look.

  That’s all Kate could handle.

  She leaned close, people racing here to help.

  Close to her mother’s lips.

  “Mom, you’re going to be…”

  It’s what they always say.

  But the last word was cut off by her mother’s lips moving, barely a sound.

  But words, right in her ear.

  “I love you.”

  “Mom…”

  “So proud.”

  “Mom, here they are. They’ll carry you in.”

  Her ear still glued to her mother’s lips as men—just dark shapes really—leaned down to pick her up.

  Yes! And get her inside. Get her medicine, bandages, and…

  But her ear, still listening, the words so faint.

  “Take care of Simon. Take care—”

  Then as she was raised, as Kate, kneeling, leaned back, two—now three—men gently raising her mother up.

  The eyes that had seen Kate.

  Now looking at nothing. Just a glisten in the darkness.

  Staring forever.

  And Kate felt a hand on her shoulder as she started shaking her head.

  Shaking, and saying, “No.”

  Then again, each time the word louder, until she just knelt there in the blood-spattered dirt, sobbing, saying the word over and over again.

  “No. No. No!”

  Until it was a howl, and she didn’t care how loud.

  The man’s hand stayed on her shoulder.

  And it would stay there until, finally, Kate had no more energy to cry.

  No more energy to howl out that word.

  Until… the sky somewhere started to shift from black to purple to a hint of other colors that started appearing.

  The night had ended.

  And Kate had to keep telling herself over and over again.

  The impossible truth.

  Unacceptable.

  My mom is gone.

  There’s just me. And Simon.

  Just us.

  epilogue

  CHAPTER 40

  Bald Mountain, Michigan—Mid-October

  Kate waited for the gate to open, and then she started the rocky drive up the slope.

  Her partner—people worked in teams here, for a lot of reasons—was a nineteen-year-old boy, sitting beside her, older.

  But Kate was the leader.

  There had never been any question about that.

  The Rav-4 bumped and rattled until they reached a plateau on the hill.

  From here, she saw people working out on the terraced fields, some with carts, as they gathered the vegetables that had been grown and—amazingly enough—flourished here.

  And down one slope, a stand of apple trees, young; but they too had produced a variety of apples. Many even had the marks of an insect here and there.

  No one complained about that.

  Somehow, insects coming back.

  That meant something.

  No one wished these were like the fruits and vegetables that had been modified to resist bugs—only to disappear, succumbing to whatever wiped out crops worldwide.

  She pulled the car to a jerky stop beside a line of vehicles.

  Sam Lewis stood talking to a man with a great baldhead and giant hands, “Big Jose” they called him, the man who somehow kept all their vehicles running.

  “Quite the stop, Kate. You sure you don’t want me to drive?”

  She turned to Tim sitting beside her.

  Though he often kidded her about her decisions when they went out on patrol—about driving, about anything—it all seemed gentle.

  So yeah. She liked him.

  And he seemed to know it.

  “Got us here, didn’t I?” she said, popping open the door and getting out.

  But not before giving Tim a smile.

  She took her rifle out with her. Probably no shooting today, but her gun was never far from her.

  Sam saw her and gave her a wave.

  With a nod to Tim, she walked over.

  “Quiet again?” Sam asked.

  “Yes. Saw nothing.”

  “Okay. What’s this? A week straight?”

  “Easily. And the other patrols?”

  “Same thing.”

  She saw Sam looked away, to the top of the hill where the brilliant fall
sun was about to slip behind it, throwing the valley into deep, cool shade.

  “Sam, what do you think it means?” Kate asked.

  He turned to her. “Not sure, Kate. But I can tell you what I hope it means.”

  She stood there.

  Since her mother died, she noticed that Sam talked to her as an adult. As if whatever Christie had meant, who she was, was now part of Kate.

  And in doing that, Sam had helped her during those first terrible weeks without her.

  Though she and Simon spent weeks just doing nothing, it was Sam—when they had reached Michigan—who came and said, “We could use you, Kate. And your brother. Lots to be done.”

  That was it.

  Lots to be done.

  And if this was their future, their life now—and for who knew how many years ahead—she then realized it was time, in another way, to move on.

  To somehow let go of that pain.

  Knowing one very key thing: It’s what her mother would have wanted.

  “And what is that… what you hope?” Kate asked.

  “Somehow, they’re disappearing. Can Heads. Dying off. Turning on each other? Or who knows? Leaving the people here, dunno, safe?”

  She watched Sam look around at the valley, at the rows of corn still to be cut down.

  Corn.

  Again—amazing.

  Somehow they had been able to get strains that did just fine here.

  And not only that, but squash. Even pumpkins! And while dairy and meat were still very scarce, even those few animals they had seemed to be doing okay, with enough water and feed.

  Kate knew from meetings they had—where she attended as a full partner—that they now knew there were dozens, maybe hundreds of communities like this scattered throughout the country.

  Led by scientists and old-school farmers who together figured out what to grow and what not to… how to naturally and carefully nurture strains of crops that had no connection to whatever mutation made the world’s food supply suddenly so vulnerable.

  “You really think so?”

  Sam looked at her, the still-warm sun on her face, feeling so good.

  He smiled. “I said, ‘hope.’ Can’t be sure. And don’t worry, you won’t be out of a job. Not for some months to come. But if this keeps up… through the winter, into spring… think we’ll need to find another job for you other than running around looking for Can Heads.”

  She laughed at that. “Yeah, could get boring.”